


Calculations

by lost_spook



Category: British Comedy - Fandom, On the Up
Genre: British Comedy, F/M, Gen, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-29
Updated: 2010-10-29
Packaged: 2017-10-12 23:11:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_spook/pseuds/lost_spook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's doing sums in his head and it's giving him nightmares: Sam + Maggie = heartbreak . Luckily, or otherwise, Maggie's made up her mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calculations

**Author's Note:**

> This is fanfic for obscure 1990s British sitcom by Bob Larbey, yes. What can I say? Post S3; spoilers for final episode.

It was the beginning of a new day and something of a new era for the Carpenter household, or at least, that was the theory. In the event, nothing looked any different to Sam. He walked into the kitchen to find, as he suspected, he was the first person awake this morning. He switched the kettle on and reached for a mug.

He wasn't in the best of moods and, it was funny, because he'd been in a pretty good one when he went to bed last night. He'd got out of it on all the wrong sides this morning. Yesterday had been a red letter day for Tony and him, with his old friend and current employer finally making a decision about his marriage and Maggie coming back home again. Sam still had to smile slightly knowing that she was here, where she belonged.

Trouble was, he'd been kept awake all night by bad dreams. Well, that and maths. He was no genius, but he could do simple subtraction. He could add up and all, and no matter what he did the answers came out wrong.

He'd have to tell her. It wasn't fair, but it was better now than later.

*

Maggie entered the kitchen, humming to herself and stopped on finding Sam already there. She gave him an uncertain smile, this whole thing being new to both of them. She looked pleased, though, Sam noted, and that wouldn't last, not once she'd heard what he had to say.

"Coffee?" he offered.

She raised her eyebrows. "Is that instant? Mrs Wembley'll be on the warpath."

"I like to live dangerously," he returned. "How about you?"

Maggie laughed. "Go on, then. I'll take my chances. And how are you this morning?"

"I need to talk to you," he said, passing her the mug and sitting down in the chair next to her at the table.

She curled her hands around the cup. "I'm not sure I like the sound of that."

"No, you won't," he said bluntly. "Look, Maggie, yesterday -."

Maggie waited.

"It won't do," he said finally. "That's all."

She put the cup down. "Well, you didn't waste any time in changing your mind, did you? You said you liked me. Or, at least, I think you eventually came out with something to that effect."

"I do," he said, not looking at her. "No point in saying otherwise. But I've been thinking about it all night and it'll never work. We'd be a pair of mugs to go any further with this."

She hunched back in the chair. "This is you still liking me?"

"Well, all right, then. I woke up this morning and remembered how plain you are in daylight," he said. "Will that do?"

"Thanks!"

He sighed. "Look, I did some thinking, that's all."

"Then I prefer _my_ thinking."

He said, "I know. On the other hand, I did mine without having to go to Reading. Maggie, thanks -."

"-But no thanks?" she finished for him. "Thanks a bunch."

He got up. "You know I'm right."

Mrs Wembley entered the kitchen lightly. She surveyed them both at the table and sang 'Hello, Young Lovers' under her breath which caused both to turn in irritation.

"Good morning!" she trilled. Then her gaze fell on the mugs. "Is that instant?"

"What?" said Sam.

She narrowed her gaze. "Coffee. Instant coffee. It is, isn't it? Get rid of it at once!"

"Of course, Mrs Wembley," said Maggie and, after a pause to check the temperature of hers, flung the remainder of the cup in Sam's face, as she stalked out of the kitchen.

"Lover's quarrel, is it?" queried Mrs Wembley, archly.

Sam grimaced at her and wiped his face with the tea towel. He supposed he deserved it this time. "No, it isn't. I think you could call it Maggie formally terminating our relationship. Not that there was exactly anything to terminate, but -."

The elderly cook frowned and took her seat at the head of the table. "Sam, what did you say to Maggie?"

"I told her she was ugly and we'd better call it all off," he responded. "Excuse me, I need to go and get changed into a clean uniform."

"Sam, be serious!"

"I am. I can't go around like this, now can I?"

Tony Carpenter, master of the house, owner of Carpenter's luxury car-hire firm and self-made millionaire, entered, whistling. "Good morning, all. Is that coffee, Mrs Wembley?"

"Not what I would call coffee," she responded.

He glanced at Sam, who was now trying to get the coffee off his white shirt. "Cor, what have you been doing to yourself?"

"He's upset Maggie," declared Mrs Wembley. "You talk some sense into him!"

Tony said, "Eh? I thought-."

"Lover's quarrel," explained the cook.

Sam glared. "It's not."

"Look, what's happened?" asked Tony. "And, Sam, when you've got cleaned up, I need to go to the solicitors."

The chauffeur nodded. "Of course, master."

"You know," Tony said, distracted. "I've finally worked out what you sound like: you're Igor!"

Mrs Wembley looked from Sam to Tony in bewilderment. "Who's Igor? What does he have to do with Maggie?"

"Dracula's manservant," said Tony, putting an arm around her. "Or Frankenstein's, or something. Opens the creaky door with a sinister, 'yes, master'."

"I still don't see what any of that has to do with Sam and Maggie."

"No, I'm saying Sam's Igor!"

"But that's not why Maggie threw coffee at him!"

"No, it isn't," agreed Tony. "I was only - oh, never mind. Look, Sam -."

Sam paused again. "It's none of your business, all right? And, Mrs Wembley, this isn't one of your old-fashioned musicals. Now, give me five minutes and I'll be back down. Master."

They both watched him go, open-mouthed.

"Personally," said Tony, "I hope she threw the mug at him and all."

Mrs Wembley dished up a full English breakfast - she had felt it was an occasion worthy of it and, despite Sam's behaviour, she didn't see why Tony shouldn't have it to mark his decision to divorce Mrs Carpenter (and also, so she gathered, to ask the charming Jane Webster out to dinner.).

"What did happen?"

The cook sat down at the other end of the table. "I don't know. I only witnessed the end result."

"Maggie flinging coffee at Sam?" he said. He chuckled. "I wish I'd seen that."

Mrs Wembley gave him a stern look. "This isn't funny, Mr Carpenter."

"No, you're right. I finally sort out Ruth and then Maggie starts playing havoc with the crockery as well."

She sighed. "Mr Carpenter -."

"It's between Maggie and Sam, Mrs Wembley. Not much we can do."

She lifted her chin. "I don't give up that easily."

*

Sam drove the Mercedes out of the gateway and onto the road.

"Can you take me down to Mum's first?" asked Tony. "I'd better see Stephanie."

"Anything you say, master," he returned. "Or should that be Count Dracula?"

Tony sighed. "Sam, what's with you and Maggie? Last time I saw you, you had a freakish grin on your face and distinct traces of lipstick and now you're scowling at everyone and she's throwing coffee about."

"If you must know," Sam said, "I told her it wouldn't work."

*

"He said it wouldn't work," Maggie told Mrs Wembley, still red in the face, and furious. "Not even why or anything. But you know what he's like. Shuts up like a clam and that's it."

Mrs Wembley was engaged in writing out a menu for lunch. "Maggie, dear, I'm sure if you talk to him -."

"I think I'd have to kill him!"

"Oh, now, don't do that," she said, writing, "you've already made enough mess in my kitchen with the coffee."

Maggie sighed and leant back into the wooden chair. "I'm sorry, Mrs Wembley. I was angry."

"I did notice."

Maggie bit her lip. "Is it me? Is there something about me? Whenever I like someone it always ends in a mess, usually because I choose some no-good idiot. I thought Sam was different."

"Of course it's not you," Mrs Wembley declared, putting her pen down. "I'm sure it's nothing you can't sort out."

She lifted her eyebrows. "He said it'd never work. It's not as if we had a little row about something stupid."

"Sometimes," said Mrs Wembley enigmatically, "it comes as a shock when you get what you want."

Maggie frowned. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Sam," the elderly cook said impatiently. "He always thought he was too old for you - he didn't think you'd ever look twice at him. I shouldn't wonder if that was what this was all about."

The younger woman thought about it, resting her chin on her hands. "Really?" Then she laughed. "I'm nothing special."

"To Sam you are," said Mrs Wembley, wearing her very wisest fairy godmother expression.

Maggie put down the cup and folded her arms. "If that's true, he's got a funny way of showing it, that's all I can say."

*

"Sometimes I just don't get you," complained Tony. "You spend all this time moping around, pining after Maggie and then she's mad enough to like you back and you turn her down."

"I don't mope. Or pine, for that matter."

Tony glanced over at him as they turned a corner. "Oh, come off it, Sam. What's the problem?"

"I'm too old for her, that's all."

His friend paused. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think either of your ages have changed drastically overnight and that didn't stop you liking her in the first place. If she doesn't mind, why should you?"

"I said, _that's all_."

Tony folded his arms. "Love doesn't have rules like that. Oh, I can't fall for her because she's the wrong age or shape or what-have you. It's more like - I dunno - playing Monopoly with Mrs Wembley - even if there are rules, nobody knows what they are, and they keep changing."

"I hardly think Maggie's going to start putting random hotels on Mayfair and Trafalgar Square."

Tony pulled a face at Sam. "Ha ha. You know what I'm saying. Anyway, you think you two have got problems. I was reading in the paper the other day about some 80 year old woman taking up with a 17 year old lad. Now, that's going a bit far, but all the same -."

"Thanks for the sage advice, but I'd rather not talk about it."

"Yeah, well, that's you all over, that is."

Sam pulled up outside the terraced house where Mrs Carpenter (senior) lived.

Tony paused before getting out and then grinned. "Talking of Mrs Wembley and board games - remember the time we tried to play Cluedo?"

"What, and she reckoned the solution was the three cards she had in her hand?"

Tony chuckled. "Yeah. Took some explaining. I thought it was going to be a case of Mrs Wembley in the lounge with the coffee pot."

"Now you're exaggerating."

Tony opened the door. "Maybe, but you sort things out with Maggie when we get back - that's an order!"

"Yes, Count," said Sam, at his blandest.

*

"I want a word," announced Maggie, catching Sam in the hallway, once he returned. "And I'm not taking no for an answer."

"Of course. Any word in particular? I could fetch a dictionary -."

"In the lounge," she ordered.

Sam folded his arms. "I've said my piece. There isn't anything else to discuss."

"Oh, yes, there is. You can't just waltz in, announce that this won't work and then go off with no explanation. Even if it won't, we're supposed to be friends. Aren't we?"

Sam nodded.

"Well, then," she said. "Tell me why."

He moved across to her. "I'd have thought it was obvious. I can do the maths - take your age away from mine and you're still left with a lot of numbers. And there'll always be people wondering what you see in me."

"What people?" Maggie asked. "Mrs Wembley? Tony?"

"Well, no, not them, but -."

She played with her pen. "Then it's not any people that matter."

"What about your dad?"

"You know he doesn't approve of anything I do, anyway."

"No," Sam muttered. "Sorry. I don't mean to hurt your feelings, but you're not going to stay with me for long. There'll be some good-looking bloke your own age sooner or later, and where will that leave me?"

Maggie laughed at him. "Yes, because you can see the queue of admirers round the door now. Anyway, are you saying I'm stupid?"

"Of course not," Sam said, startled out of his stubbornness for a moment. "Come off it, Maggie. But that's what I mean."

"Well, you're either implying I can't count," she returned, raising her chin and tilting her head very slightly to the side. It was a too-familiar gesture that he knew meant Trouble. "Or that it didn't occur to me when I spent all that time thinking."

"In Reading."

"Yes. Well, either that or you think I'm so fickle I'd go running off with someone else the moment I get a chance. All of which is jumping the gun anyway because we haven't even been on a date yet, unless you count the time Mrs Wembley set us up."

Sam had to smile, but he persevered. "I'm only saying. Because I'm right, aren't I? And it's bad enough now, let alone later."

"I'd like to throw another cup of coffee at you," she said, moving nearer. "My other boyfriends were my own age and they were rubbish. I told you that."

"Yes, you did mention one of them turned out to be a petty crook."

"And there's no guarantees. I could sit around here waiting for someone else to come along all my life and even if they did, they'd probably be another criminal. Or married, or something."

Sam said, "Oh. So I'm the safe option, am I?"

"If it's any consolation, you're certainly not the easy option," snapped Maggie. "Listen, I went away to think because I was too close to everything here. I had to get some distance. And you know what I found? I missed you. I mean, Tony and Mrs Wembley, too, but it was all wrong without you."

He coughed. "I missed you, too."

"I think you did manage to say that much yesterday," she said, smiling. "You're like an oyster."

Sam took a step towards her. "I thought it was a tortoise."

"Sam!" bellowed Tony from the hallway. " _SAM_!"

They looked at each other.

"Later," he said.

Maggie hoped she'd said enough this time. It was so hard to tell with Sam. And so stupid, if he really did like her. She was sure he did, but it was unsettling when the most she'd got out of him even now was a short, "You know I'm fond of you, Maggie." From Sam, she judged that was about a passionate declaration of love as she'd get, but his awkwardness today was frightening her because staying at her friend's the last few weeks had shown her that'd she'd definitely been blind in this case because, despite her crush on Tony, it was Sam she couldn't do without.

But what did she know? She'd already been proved wrong in thinking he would never hurt her.

*

"Take Steph to Ruth's, will you?" ordered Tony. "Best start as we mean to go on and play fair."

Sam said, "Yes, Master!" Then he headed off to collect Tony's teenage daughter, who was still being eerily well-behaved.

Stephanie thanked him with a smile once they reached the other end and Sam tried to keep his eyebrows from hitting the roof of the car.

*

"Maggie, I've got a question," said Tony, walking into the lounge, and hovering a metre or so from her desk. "Does your contract cover doing the paperwork for my divorce? Have you seen all this stuff? It'd be easier to bump Ruth off. Certainly quicker, anyrate."

Maggie gave a smile. "I'd help you with either. Would you prefer poisoning or stabbing?"

"There's no call for that," he scolded. "Mind you, I suppose Ruth'd return the favour, so fair enough. Look, sort things out with Sam, won't you? I can't be doing with him in this mood."

"If you hadn't interrupted earlier, I might have done."

"Oh?"

His secretary returned to the computer. "Anyway, it's none of your business."

"You're as bad as him," Tony said.

Maggie smiled again.

*

"Now, where were we?" asked Sam on his return, tracking Maggie down in the kitchen.

Maggie turned. "As I recall, you were being an ostrich - sticking your head in the sand and hoping I'd go away!"

"Look, I'm going to be getting a complex if this goes on," Sam complained . "I can't be a tortoise, an oyster and an ostrich."

Maggie said, "I could think of worse names."

"I expect you could." A smile was creeping over his face despite himself. "I'm sorry, Maggie. Just seemed a bit too good to be true, that's all."

She laughed at him. "It's only me, Sam."

The smile grew. He couldn't answer that one and remain coherent, so he sat down in the chair beside her and coughed. "You - ah - you said yesterday that you wanted a statement."

Maggie nodded.

"Something like this, was it?"

They both leant forwards...

...And back again hastily as Mrs Wembley entered. "Spinach," the cook said, addressing the air. "Or cauliflower, perhaps."

Sam fought laughter and said, "And broccoli to you, Mrs Wembley."

"Oh, don't be silly, Sam," Mrs Wembley scolded. "I was thinking about dinner." She looked at them both and then beamed. "Oh, good!"

They glanced at each other and sobered instantly.

"Oh, good?" said Maggie, widening her eyes in innocence. "What is?"

Sam said, "Must be excellent spinach."

"You've sorted things out," the cook said. Then she added, coyly, "Should I leave you two alone?"

Sam shook his head. "No, you see to the important things, Mrs Wembley. I need to go and get the car out for Tony anyhow. He's taking Jane Webster to dinner."

"Oh, ho," said Maggie. "He's not wasting any time, is he?"

Sam got up, but before he headed for the door, he put a hand on her shoulder. She smiled again.

*

"Thanks," said Tony, pulling his jacket on. "Wish me luck."

Sam said, "Good luck."

His friend grinned. "And same to you - you have sorted things out with Maggie now, haven't you?"

"If you wouldn't keep barging in, I might have done."

Tony sighed. "Blimey, everyone's so touchy today. For once, I got more sense out of Mum, Stephanie and Ruth than you lot!"

"Right, there's the keys."

Tony frowned. "What was the problem, anyway?"

"I'm an idiot," said Sam. "A prize mug. Will that do?"

Tony shook his head. "Ask a stupid question... Even I could have worked that out."

"Or possibly," added Sam more distantly, "an ostrich. Or a tortoise. Maybe even an oyster."

Tony headed for the door. "Make up your mind."

"That's what I said."

*

Maggie was sitting at her desk reflecting ruefully that she had not got much done today - and it wasn't as if she didn't have a backlog from her holiday - when Sam came in search of her again.

She swivelled round on her chair. "Sam. You've not changed your mind again?"

"Nope," he said. "I'm sorry. You've had it now. You're going to be stuck with me."

Maggie looked up at him as he crossed to the desk. "There is one thing."

"What's that?"

"You're not just feeling sorry for me, are you?"

Sam said, "Now, Margaret, either you're fishing for compliments or you _are_ stupid."

"Well, that's nice," Maggie returned, getting to her feet and facing him. "I'm not. But I am very determined - and my maths is better than yours."

He laughed properly then, for the first time today. "Yes, that's true. Now, a statement, wasn't it?"

"If," said Maggie, "you make some joke about bank statements or -."

Sam shook his head. Then, before anyone else could interrupt, he leant in and kissed her for the first time. She'd kissed him twice before, but one of them he'd been sure could only mean goodbye and the other yesterday, when she'd come back and proved him wrong, had taken him too much by surprise to dare respond in kind. Even though, now he thought about it, she had been flirting with him all day. "Er. That the sort of thing you had in mind?"

"I'm not sure," said Maggie, straight-faced, but with a wicked twinkle lurking in her eyes. "You might need to try again."

There was a knock at the door and Mrs Wembley entered. "Did you two want dinner or not?"

"You know," said Sam, "it's a big house. You'd think we could manage to avoid each other occasionally."

*

"Clearly, we need to get out of here," Sam said later, while Mrs Wembley was clearing up. "Friday? We could do the cinema and the Chinese - in honour of our first date. I'll go see if Mrs Wembley wants to plan out the details for us."

Maggie laughed, but nodded. "One thing. If you talk about lychee again, we're through."

"I promise," he assured her. "Shame, though. One of my most popular topics , you know."

She put a hand to his sleeve. "Sam," she said, "you will be serious about this at some point, won't you?"

"Of course," he responded. "How does next Tuesday sound?"

Maggie punched him in the arm.

*

Later, after Tony came back - he wasn't late - they all sat in the lounge together, Tony and Mrs Wembley on one sofa, Sam and Maggie on the other. For Maggie, who'd been away till yesterday, it was more home than ever, although she said nothing. There wasn't any need.

"I know," said Tony, "how about we -."

Mrs Wembley perked up. "A glass of something? What a splendid idea, Mr Carpenter. Just the one!"

"I was going to say, how about we play Trivial Pursuit - me and Mrs W against Sam and Maggie, but now that you mention it, why not?"

Mrs Wembley smiled.

"Are you sure that's wise?" asked Sam. "Last time we did something rash like that you nearly ended up strangling Mrs Wembley."

The cook accepted her glass of sherry. "The question on the card was clearly incorrectly phrased and, anyway, the answer was wrong. It wasn't Rita Hayward at all."

Maggie leant her head against Sam's shoulder. She hoped that he would leave the maths to her in future. The rest, she'd trust to him. He'd only start worrying about her reasons again if she told him, but there was something very reassuring about Sam.

Tony saw her movement and wrinkled his nose. "You two aren't going to be canoodling all about the place, are you now? Because, if you are, I'll sack you both."

"Jealous, are you?" asked Sam in smug amusement.

"'Course not. For your information, I had a _very_ nice evening with Jane. Now, come on - just a quick game. Why not?"

"Don't say I didn't warn you," said Sam, but he left Tony to fetch it, despite his usually being general dogsbody. "Oh, well, at least it's not Monopoly."

*

When Sam got up the next morning, it was sunny, he was untroubled by nightmares, and he had no thought for problematic equations.

"No one else up yet?" said Maggie, joining him.

"Just you and me."

"Good," she said, just as Mrs Wembley entered, closely followed by Tony, still arguing about the cook's inability to understand the rules of the board game.

Maggie and Sam exchanged glances.

"What did Tony say we'd have to do to get the sack?" she whispered.

Sam grinned widely and pushed his glasses back into position. "Excessive canoodling, I think it was..."


End file.
